


this hollow in me [is shaped like you]

by Nafmas



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Depression, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:24:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nafmas/pseuds/Nafmas
Summary: Everyone deals with their grief in a different way.Richie couldn’t tell if he wanted to go back to those blissful years where he hadn’t remembered Pennywise at all. But there was a hollow, just below his ribcage that would never really go away, not even if he didn’t remember. It was the place where Eddie lived, the ghost of him. It was made and crafted for him, grown and shaped for Eddie and only Eddie, and it would forever go unfilled now that he was gone.But maybe this was good enough. He could live with this.





	this hollow in me [is shaped like you]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmiewithacape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmiewithacape/gifts).

> I wrote this all in one day. I had a feeling that if I didn't I would never finish it. So here is this angst-fest for all to enjoy! [or suffer through, you know, whatever's your cup of tea]
> 
> Thanks to the ever lovely Emily @emmiewithacape for showing me It and also beta-ing this. <3

He had lived nearly twenty years of his life without Eddie. Now it seemed he wouldn’t make it to the end of the day.

Richie would say that he was the worst of what was left of the Loser’s Club, but none of them were doing especially well. Bill ended up the worst, he thinks. Calling Richie when he wasn’t crying to Mike. Crying with Ben and Bev when he wasn’t calling Richie. Dealing with Pennywise felt like finishing something. But that meant there had to be a start to something else.

Perhaps Pennywise was right, like they were truly floating along for twenty seven years and now the current had died. They needed to learn to swim or they would drown.

Most of the time, Richie felt like he was drowning.

* * *

His phone was vibrating from its location on the counter. It was perched near the edge, and only after it had tipped over the edge and fell with a loud clatter on his floor, did Richie even realize it was ringing. The oatmeal he was eating had congealed and grown cold. He looked up at the clock on his stove.

“Oh.”

He had sat at the kitchen counter for 3 hours.

He leaned over and picked up his phone and answered it, “Hello?”

“Richie?” It was Mike. “Jesus Christ! You can’t do that.” There’s voices in the background and some rustling, he address someone, “Stop it, Bill, he’s fine, he picked up.” He clears his throat, “Richie, are you okay?”

Richie blinks slowly once, twice, then answers, “Yeah, sorry, just lost track of time.”

“Bill said he called you fifteen times, Richie.”

Richie was silent.

More mumbling that Richie couldn’t hear, “We were nervous you went and…” Mike trailed off. Killed yourself. Isn’t what he said.

“I’m fine. Just… lost track of time.” He pauses, clears his throat, and lies, “And I lost my phone, must have misplaced it.”

“Bill was worried… I just… It’s normal, to lose time. Bill does too.”

Richie rubs his eyes beneath his glasses and squints his face before shaking his head, “I’m fine.”

“Richie,”

“I’m fine, Mike.” He insists.

“Fine. Call Bill.” Mike remarks curtly before hanging up.

* * *

This was not the first morning like this one. It had been two weeks since everything was finished in Derry. And it was every other day Bill seemed to call.

Richie couldn’t tell if he wanted to go back to those blissful years where he hadn’t remembered Pennywise at all. But there was a hollow, just below his ribcage that would never really go away, not even if he didn’t remember. It was the place where Eddie lived, the ghost of him. It was made and crafted for him, grown and shaped for Eddie and only Eddie, and it would forever go unfilled now that he was gone.

Richie couldn’t be mad at Mike. Or Bill. He could never be mad at them, not for very long. Not after the scare with Bill. It wasn’t even three days after they had returned home from Derry.

* * *

When Richie’s phone went off, it startled him. He had just finished making himself a cup of tea and sat down to drink it. He had woken up from a dream, it wasn’t particularly terrifying, but he had woken up crying and realized he couldn’t get back to bed.

“Bill? It’s two in the morning.” He picked up the tea from his coffee table and took a sip. He could have sworn it was hot not a few moments ago. It was cold now and the flavor strong to the point of unpleasantness.

There was a sob on the other end of the line. “No, Richie, It’s 4:37. Not that that’s any better.”

Richie looked at the clock, so it was. He set down the beverage.

“Okay, Bill, it’s four in the morning, why are you calling?” Another broken sob crackled into the phone. This one dissolved into several and then pitiful sounding crying. There was the sound of water. “Bill, where are you?”

Bill sniffled and said, “I wonder if this is what he felt that night?”

“Who?” Richie yawned, “Bill, what are you talking about?”

“Do you think he would judge me now? After all these years, and I didn’t even really get to say goodbye.”

Richie pushed his glasses onto his head and rubbed his eyes. “Bill, you aren’t making any sense. Why are you calling me at four in the morning? Who are you talking about?”

“I’m going to leave Audra.”

“Oh.” That stopped Richie. “Where are you? Do you need someone to be with you?”

“Oh, Richie, no. I’m sorry.”

“Bill?”

“I miss him.”

It finally dawned on Richie what this conversation was. The space carved for Eddie, the one inside his bones, chilled. It felt like it was filled with slow, cold molasses.“I miss him too, Bill, where are you?”

“I’m in the bathtub, Richie.”

There were very few times in Richie Tozier’s life that he thinks he understood what Eddie’s asthma attacks felt like. This was one of those moments. the molasses turned to ice, splintering out, spreading and chilling him to the bone. He wasn't entirely sure what to do. “Weird place to be calling me from there, Denbrough.” Richie swallowed, hard. Perhaps he could fall back on his default, humor his way out of this.

“Do you think he’d forgive me? If I just-”

Richie panicked, “Beep beep, Bill.” His voice sounded calm, he surprised himself.

Bill let out a pitiful laugh, “I’m not sure that’s how that works, Richie.”

Richie started pacing through his apartment, pulling his hands through his hair, “Why’d you call me? Why not call Mike, isn’t he nearby?”

“That’s why, Richie," It sounded like Bill had flicked some of the water in the tub, "Because you aren’t nearby. And I called you because if anyone would understand… If anyone, it would be you.”

“Bill?”

The line went dead.

“Bill?”

“Bill?”

Richie panicked and called Mike.

* * *

So Mike and Bill have been living together ever since.

Honestly, Richie was impressed. After that, Bill wrote an entire book in that 2 week period. Mike said he was doing okay, not great, but okay. Mike said the end was pretty good.

Bill has been calling him constantly since then. And when Richie found the energy to call Bev, she said the same thing.

It seemed that Bill needed someone. Anyone. He couldn’t be alone, not anymore, he needed to talk about it, constantly and at length.

Beverly always seemed excited to hear from anyone, but she always kept topics light. She was releasing a new line soon. Retro, inspired by the eighties.

* * *

“No, Richie.”

“Bev,”

Beverly switched the phone to her other shoulder and held it between her cheek and her shoulder, “No, Rich, I don’t want to talk about it.” She pulled the needle through the piece of cloth she was working with.

Richie sighed. “I love talking to you Beverly, but you never want to actually talk about anything. If I wanted to make small talk, I would talk to my barista.”

“Ha. Ha." She said coldly. "Shit!” There was some rustling on the phone.

Richie felt his chest tighten, panic flooding the space meant for Eddie, “What?”

“Oh, sorry, Richie, I just poked myself with the needle.”

Richie let out a quick puff of air, “Fuck, Bev, you can’t do that. I keep thinking that it’s-”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

He didn’t even make super inappropriate jokes anymore. He couldn’t with how often Beverly pulled the beep beep card. If anything even relatively close to Derry or Pennywise, or even Stan and Eddie popped up, Oh, beep beep, Richie.

“I’ll poke your mom with something.”

He could hear the eye roll on the other end of the phone. “I’ve got to get back to sewing, are you coming over for dinner this weekend?”

Richie, sighed, “I’ll try.”

* * *

Dinner was short. Richie got beeped thirteen times. He didn’t stay for dessert.

When Richie stepped outside to have a cigarette, Bev joined him like old times, except Bev didn't smoke. They didn't talk either, Richie just smoked and they enjoyed each other's company. After, Bev even had the decency to tell him he'd spaced for an hour. He left after that.

Mike had inadvertently become the therapist of the group. Perhaps it was because Mike never floated like the rest of them.

* * *

Richie lights another cigarette and let's hit hang from his lips. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.” Richie complained down the line.

Mike scratched his head, “She doesn’t have to, Richie,”

“But it’s like if anyone even mentions Eddie’s name it’s like someone called her a slut and killed her dog.”

“Richie,”

“I get it, beep beep.”

Mike rolled his eyes, “No, Richie, just give her time. People deal with stuff in different ways.”

Richie didn’t say anything, but took a long drag and let out a frustrated puff of air. “Fuck, fine, Mike, what’ve you been up to? How’s Bill?”

“Bill’s been good. He’s going through all that stuff with his publisher and editor. They love the new book.”

“That’s good. He needed some good news.”

Mike hums, “I’m gonna go to school.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie smiles and taps some of the ashes off the end of the cigarette, “What for? Please not something to do with assistant librarianing.”

Mike laughed, "Fuck, Richie, no. I’m actually going back for Psychology.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Richie blows his cigarette smoke into the sky and looks up at the clouds, “I think you’d be good at that.”

Mike nods, “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

Mike put all of that energy into something good. Or at least Richie felt like he was trying, he wasn’t as haunted as the rest of them it seemed.

Ben doesn’t call. Not because he doesn’t want to talk about it like Bev, no, Ben was angry. Not in an explosive anger, not like when they were kids. It’s a cold anger, a fury that boils right below his skin.

He never takes it out on any of them. He works out more. Picks fights with strangers.

* * *

“Richie speaking.”

“Hey, Richie, it’s Bev, can you wait a little bit before coming over tonight?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, just running a little late.”

She’s lying. They’re so close now, he can tell just by the tilt of her voice. “Bev,”

“Ben got into a fight.”

“Ben? Poet Ben? Architect Ben? Bunnies would think Ben is too soft, Ben?”

There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, “Hey Richie.” It's Ben.

“Shit, hey Ben, fuck, how’s work?” Richie asks, burying the lead.

“Pretty good. The company actually just got a big contract from the city.”

“That sounds cool.” Richie waits thirty seconds before clicking his tongue and finally asking, “So, I, uh, heard you got into a fight.”

“Not much of a fight, honestly.” Richie can hear the shrug.

“Are you alright? You aren’t going to a hospital, are you?”

Ben laughs. It borders on the edge of hysterical and then there’s more rustling, Beverly takes the phone back, “He’s fine, he’s just got a couple cuts, a little bit of glass, nothing a first aid kit and a band aid won’t fix.”

Richie smiles, “Did Ben kick someone’s ass?”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

So that’s a yes. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Thanks, Rich,”

He lights a cigarette before replying, “No problem, Bev,” and hangs up.

* * *

The glass had cut Ben’s eyebrow, there was a pretty badass looking black eye growing. Ben’s knuckles were red and swollen. Richie made a mental note to bring Ben to his next bar fight.

They lasted all of 3 months, the five of them. Oddly enough, it was Mike that suggested it. He was the most well-adjusted. Perhaps he had gotten one too many calls, who from, Mike would never admit.

Honestly, the reason they didn’t live together that third month was because Ben insisted on designing the house himself. 

There were windows everywhere, casting bright white light into every room, attempting to banish the horrors they all thought they saw within them. Woods and ceramics in light colors. The entire building was one floor. No floorboard to fall through and break your arm, no basement to hear creepy noises from. The light fixtures were all soft and warm, usually square and never in sets of three.

Most of the time the house did the work for them. Living close helped. There was always someone around, many of them had odd hours and a lot of them worked from home. But sometimes, in the middle of the night at three or four, when the truly loud and terrifying screaming started, even a perfectly designed house can carry demons.

It was usually Bill. It was almost always about that night almost a year ago now. Calling Richie from the bathtub. But sometimes it was about Mike. He would wake up screaming and not knowing where he was. He would cry and sob and punch Richie, if he came in first. Nails scratching down his arms.

* * *

“Bill!” Richie attempted to get bill’s attention over his own screaming. “Bill!”

“H-H-He’s dead, R-Richie, I saw him h-hide, we c-couldn’t. He’s gone, God Richie, G-God n-n-no, w-w-why?”

“Bill, Bill," Richie tried to grasp onto Bill's face and get him to look at him, "I need you to talk to me.”

“M-Mike’s dead, Richie, R-Richie, he’s d-dead just like S-S-S-Stan and Eddie, h-he got him, he-”

“Bill, Bill, come on. Bill, he’s fine.”

“R-Richie, he’s d-dead, I saw it, R-Richie.” 

Richie threw Bill over his shoulder. 

“Richie, s-s-s-stop it, p-p-put me d-down.” He pounded at his back. “He’s dead. W-W-Where are you taking me? We have to get his b-b-body, we have to g-go b-b-back!”

“Shh,” Richie shushed him as he began the trek to Mike’s room.

The door to his room creaked open, “Wha-”

“Delivery, fuckfaces!” Richie shouted, throwing Bill onto Mike’s bed.

Bill squealed as he landed and bounced a bit.

“What the fuck, Richie?”

“M-M-Mike?”

Realization dawned on Mike’s face. “I’m here Bill. I’m fine. We're all fine.”

* * *

Mike ended up moving to the room next to Bill’s.

There was a quiet porch that overlooked a lake nearby. It was nice to see the moon’s reflection in it when they couldn’t sleep and the sun’s reflection in the soft pink glow of morning.

Richie had woken up late that night, and gone to smoke a cigarette to take the edge off. He had quit sometime around college, but found himself smoking one or two when he was having a particularly rough time. So he’d picked it up again after Derry.

* * *

“Good morning,” Beverly kissed Richie on the cheek as she walked past. 

Richie blinked at her. “Oh, uh, good morning. You’re up early.”

Beverly frowned, “Not really... I put on a pot of coffee, you want some?”

Richie looked down at the cigarette he’d lit and realized why she frowned. He’d done it again. Lost time. The cigarette had burned down to the filter and puddered out. Mike said it was dissociating. Richie called it mentally unstable. “Sure…” he said, his voice sounding smaller than he wanted it to. He put the finished cigarette in the ashtray and pulled out a new one. Took a quick pull off it.

She gave him a sad smile, “You mind if I have a drag?”

“I thought you quit?”

“I could say the same to you.” She gave him a pointed look.

He gave it to her and she took a long pull before handing it back.

“You want to bum one off me?”

Bev rolled her eyes and nodded. Richie lit one cigarette with the other and handed it to her. “Show off.”

He smiled at her. “Like riding a bike.”

She put her head on his shoulder and looked out across the water.

“I miss him.”

“Me too.”

* * *

Nights were quiet, with soft music and reading.

Richie came in smoking a cigarette. The fight to keep the smoking outside lasted about two months before Bev and Richie finally won out. They tried to keep it in certain rooms, but the living room was one place where they had three ashtrays. When school was getting particularly stressful, even Mike would steal a smoke. Tonight though, there was a soft melody playing from the sound system in the living room. 

Bev was sitting on the loveseat with Ben. Ben was sleeping and Bev was in his arms, smoking and reading a book.

Bill was on his stomach typing on his laptop, and Mike was perched on the large armchair with a notebook and some psychology books, studying.

“Wow, when did we become so domestic?” Richie means for it to come out as a joke, but it came out fond.

“That would be funny if we didn’t live in a big fuck off frat house together,” said Mike, without even looking up from his book.

Richie let himself laugh. An open and happy thing. “I guess we do, mind if I steal that one? I think that's pretty good material.”

“All yours, my man.” Mike smiled and actually looked up at Richie.

It had been a while since Richie even talked about writing more jokes. It was a nice feeling. Almost like that shape had lessened. Perhaps it wasn’t carved in his bones, but his soul. Which, if Richie believed in that kind of stuff, would be where Eddie resided until he died.

Richie found his notebook and sat on the ground, shoved his cold feet under Bill’s stomach and leaned back against Beverly’s thigh.

This was good. He could live with this.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me on twitter  
@thatspiderstan  
I will absolutely take prompts and maybe even make something out of them.


End file.
